


Body Language

by Sxtoritera



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sxtoritera/pseuds/Sxtoritera
Summary: Push him away all he likes; Ky is not budging... nor is he, apparently?
Relationships: Sol Badguy/Ky Kiske
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doreamu_san](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreamu_san/gifts).



It all started with a touch of hands—simple enough, yet bore such meaning. A special way to convey fondness, trust, romantic feelings, one would take hold of another and apply this embrace. Leave it to Ky to delve the subtext of otherwise trivial notions. Although they both held years of dedication to war, Sol's hands were coarse to the touch. Calloused extremities beneath where joints link; pads of the digits harboring a thicker layer of skin. It was no wonder when held by the powerhouse where skill meant nil, he were overtaken by vulnerability.

Laid aside the Prototype Gear, taking wonder to what nature enthuses a man to spend duration parading in the dirt. Teals met fondly over the latter whose applied his browns to the clouds above. He stares upward often; distances unreachable—like horizons. Ky wondered what it is Sol seeks. Closure around the corner since the settling of the Universal Will threat. Perhaps, the silence between them came by the waves. While their minds wander aloof, filtering selective threads to make future actions bearable—their hues always meet with one another again.

"If this is your choice, you'll have to bear getting a little dirty," Sol's vocal heard, laying on the logos of Ky, being borderline compulsive when it came to cleanliness. Hanging on the facile theme that scorn may be the key to muse the monarch to retreat. He had another thing coming:

Haughtiness of the words usher the King from reverie. Devoid of insult by expression, their digits intertwine—and much by his surprise, coffee hues grew wide. Petals of pale rose tucked to a smile, discovering the subconscious gesture of his lover imbued. He was opening his heart, unbeknownst to even doing so. 

"If I'm not getting dirty,"

His thumb gently brushing over his rough knuckle.

"It wouldn't be being with you, would it?"

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to type a small drabble. Something fluffy to get rid of all the angst I pour into Ky.


End file.
